Blackrock Justice

[ogrun]

The city of Orgrimmar towered over it's denizens, an industrial war factory contained within the small canyon that the once-Warchief, Thrall, saw fit to use because of the strength of his people, and their need of a home that would challenge them for many generations. Now steel and iron, the wooden and stone was replaced after the many fires that broke out during the sudden elemental attacks before the Sundering. Drums boom and echo through the hour, the calling of war! As trade and daily life continues on under the mantle of war that the Horde has taken, Orgrimmar has become the center of Horde activity.


"..And what of the Blackrock?" Garrosh looked up at the Orcish General standing before him. Weapons and shields that had seen many battles lined the walls of the War Room, the cold metal surprisingly held heat in well in the steel-forged structure. The commanders and war leaders from each of the Horde races stood around the small table, all their gazes focused on the map of the Searing Gorge and Burning Steppes. "They have done very little as of late.. Even their raids in Elwynn have lowered to no more than a few bunkers at the entrance to the Searing Gorge. There has been no victories against them, no raiding parties that could have damaged them from within.. I don't like the looks of it, Warchief." Spoke one of the Orcish Warlords, Gragik Spinecleave.


Warchief Garrosh nodded slowly, taking this information in. He blinked his eyes, it was clear this meeting was taking to long for his liking. His advisors exercised caution, since a threat like this has not been seen since.. when Rend Blackhand was alive, and when the Black Dragonflight was residing in the depths of the Blackrock Spire. The Horde and Alliance joined forces, briefly, to enter that place. Only to discover the Chromatic Dragonflight, a dragonflight fused with the magic and blood of the rest of the Dragonflights. There were rumors, more rumors than facts. "Have you heard anything from our Alliance spies?" Garrosh took in a deep breath, his paitence already worn thinner than a calf's hide.


Warlord Spinecleave spoke, after a moment, withdrawing a set of papers with translated Orcish. "Very little, Warchief. Though, the SI:7 has made attempts to investigate.. The agents sent in have gone missing. And..."

Garrosh immediately spoke, his teeth showing as he snarled, "And -what-, Warlord?"

The Warlord continued, "There have been more sightings of Twilight Ambassadors. The SI:7 reports say that they were seen going into the Spire, this has not happened for atleast five years, since--"

The Warchief's voice bellowed out through the War Room, "Yes! I know. Since Nefarion was slain.. We all know this, General! Tell me! How is it a false Horde, whose Orcs count even among our own as champions, regain numbers and suddenly come back? With rumors of Twilight Ambassadors? It was collapsed, a child's tale!"

A few moments of silence followed in that War Room, they knew no answer. One of the Forsaken spoke up, however, "It is possible, Warchief, that anarchy followed.. It does so when a leader with no living line dies, or if their rule was.. not popular, and a new.. false Warchief has taken the place of Rend Blackhand. Without the Black Dragonflight, it is possible this anarchy followed quickly when their favor could not be... rebought. It gives good room for a revolutionary to point fingers, find a scapegoat and.. take control." The dead man continued, drumming his claws against the edge of the well-drawn, parchment map. "This revolutionary clearly now has the favor of Deathwing, and do remember we do not truly know how large the Spire is. We were.. fortunate enough to find an entrance that lead to the nest of the.. unfortunately created Chromatic Flight, and to their highest leaders." He paused again, looking at the other generals and the Warchief, "As many lines of battle as there are, my good men and women, we must recruit! Promise rewards for taking up this dire mission!"


A Tauren interrupted, the dark brown fur of the Shu'halo was marred with old wounds and brief spots of grey fur, wearing his armor even in a non-combat setting, both his coal-black horns broken, "That is clear, Farthus. But we cannot expect mere peons and unexperienced workers to take up a task such as this. If the Alliances own SI:7 could not end this threat, then what good is Horde's own Shattered Hand?"

Garrosh grunted, having taken this moment to calm his nerves, partially, though he still spoke in a loud tone. "Very well! We will call upon the veterans, those who have not been sent yet to battle! The honored heroes, those who have even served in Thrall's service, as well." The Son of Hellscream looked over the group, "I want this to stay quiet, no word leaves this room, besides to the ears of your leaders! Send messengers to the heroes that your leaders see fit, I will consult my advisors to choose from my own people.. My eyes are upon each of you! Remember that! You are dismissed!"








The copper-red dust of Durotar stuck to the young Orc's flesh. He sat, crouched amongst the thorny bushes, peering out at the raptor that he had been tracking for most of the day. His axe ready, he took in a deep breath. Go! The mental command sprung his feet into action as he swung the axe into the raptor's throat, the warm blood trickling out of the scaled beast as the axe grazed the flesh. It was for several minutes the hunter and predator wrestled, before the hunter rose victorious. Hefting the raptor over his shoulder, he walked back home to Redaxe Farm. His one and only home.

"Ah, Girk.. You're back." His father coughed, as he spoke, wheezing as he lied in the hammock. Janghakur Redaxe was a warrior, if there ever was in need of a definition! He had fought through the Second War, the Battle of Mount Hyjal, and even at Wrathgate. Though, now, as few knew, he was bed-stricken by some unknown sickness. It was Girk, his son, who took care of him. "A messenger from Hellscream himself came for me, my son.." He spoke as Girk set the raptor down and approached the hammock, "The Stonetusks are a good family, they will care for me, if you go in my place."
The younger Orc paused for a moment, finally having a chance to speak, "Why did a messenger come? Has something happened?" The older Orc shook his head, "No.. But he did leave this.." The bedsick father handed over the rolled parchment, Girk took it, and peered at the writing. It was, obviously, in Orcish.

Janghakur Redaxe! The drums of battle call you once more! There is a deadly threat to the Horde that must be destroyed in the Eastern Kingdoms. For the safety and future glory of the Horde, the Warchief summons you to his Grommash Hold! He, himself, will tell you what needs to be known! Should you accept, your songs shall continue to echo throughout the ages! The eyes of Hellscream are upon you! At the bottom of the parchment was a seal, marked in blood-red wax, the insignia of the Horde.

Girk looked at the scroll for a moment, then at his father, "You think I should go?" His father only nodded, in reply, as the young Orc paused a moment to think. "What about armor and weapons?"
Elder Redaxe cough heavily, "Take my old armor and my axe.. The armor is strong, and my axe is still sharp.." Girk, son of Janghakur, nodded, "I.. Father, do the Stonetusks already know? I assume they came here, earlier, while I was gone? I know they will take good care of you, they are good orcs."
The Elder smiled, he did that more often each day, it seemed. "Yes, yes.. They already know, Girk. They came by and saw that the boars were not fed, yet.. I told them that you would go."
Girk turned, and left. He stopped for a moment, however, as he stepped out of the small hovel. He looked back at his father, who was now sleeping. He flexed his fingers, and just stood there. As far as he knew, this could be the last time he saw his father. Why was he walking towards the wolves? Why didn't he say no? Mounting one of the fit male wolves in the stable, and adorning the mail-chain armor, shield, and axe of his father. The shield was an iron insignia of the Horde, the axe itself curved, with jagged spikes in the blade. Girk Redaxe knew, then, that it was his destiny.

He was late in stepping onto the path.

[ogrun]

There was always an empowering feeling of pride filling the young Orc whenever he rode into Orgrimmar. Though, these visits to Orgrimmar were fewer than he would have liked, Girk felt a constant upwelling of Orc Pride when he saw the towering iron structures, the dark metal gates, feeling the city alive and burning with the ever-burning flame that is the Horde. He slowed his wolf to a slow trot as he neared Grommash Hold, taking in a deep breath as he hitched the loyal beast. Tugging on his belt for a moment, as he adjusted his father's armor. The armor a size too large, but it was nothing to worry over in the aspiring warrior's mind.

"Halt! What business do you have with the Warchief?" The Kor'kron Elite spoke, his helmet hiding his face, furrowing his brows behind his helmet. With the tone he spoke, Girk could suspect nothing less than that the Kor'kron saw him no more important than a peon. The younger Orc straightened himself in front of the Kor'kron, though the other Orc was unaffected by the attempt of strength and determination, as Girk handed over the scroll, "I was sent here in the place of my father." The Kor'kron blinked for a moment, as if surprised by this, as he peered at the scroll, "Very well, son of Redaxe," he glanced up from the scroll, rolling it up and handing it back with a grunt, "The Warchief is waiting."

The Warchief was waiting, indeed! As Girk walked into the Hold, it was only a mere few turns before he reached the throneroom. It was nearly empty, except for what appeared to be the others that were called to this special mission and the Warchief himself. The Warchief scowled, as Girk entered, raising his voice and gesturing a finger towards the young Orc, "What are you doing in my throneroom?! On what business are you here! Speak!" Girk froze in his place, as Garrosh Hellscream walked forward. "Warchief!" Girk spoke up, taking in a breath as he shifted his wait to one foot to the other, showing the scroll sent to his father. "I am Girk Redaxe, son of Janghakur! My father has sent me in his place to fight for my family line's glory. My axe will fly true during this special mission, Warchief, this I swear and promise on my honor!" Hellscream stopped only a few feet from the young Orc, a wide grin forming upon his tattooed features. "Very well! Come, Girk Redaxe! I was just explaining what needs to be done.."

The others gathered peered at him with curiousity, one of them speaking up, a male Tauren by the name of Pahu. "Greetings, Girk Redaxe. I am Pahu Kodofoot." The Tauren gave a nod, as he straightened one of his plate gauntlets, garbed in a feather-decorated harness and fur-lined chainmail. A clatter of bones came from a female Troll, the ornaments in her hair, as she nodded in acknowledgement to the Orc's presence. This was followed by a few grumblings by a Goblin wearing over-sized goggles, patches of fur and cloth all over their clothed being, as they tinkered with an arclight spanner and some unactivated device, distracted by the complex hand-sized contraption, the male Goblin hushed his grumbling as a female Forsaken drummed her skeletal claws against bone-bare knees, the leather armor that she wore covering nearly all of her person, though bits and pieces of the armor were worn away on the legs and elbows.

The Warchief spoke, interrupting any possible introduction and conversation, "As for this mission into Blackrock Spire, there is very little that we know. Ambassadors of the Twilight's Hammer have been since entering the Spire, it has been five years since the Black Dragons had contacted the Blackrock.. We suspect that there is a new Chieftain amongst them, one who is following in Rend's footsteps." Garrosh Hellscream paced for a moment, as he spoke, stopping to face the gathered Orc, Tauren, Troll, Forsaken and Goblin, "Very few know of this mission, you have all been sent to destroy this threat upon the Horde! The Alliance have sent their assassins in, and did not succeed.. Expect the most cowardly tactics!" Two mages walked in, an Orc and a Troll, the Warchief continued, "I summoned two mages to create a portal to the Spire, so that you may handle this threat -immediately-."

The mages drew the required runes into the floor with a eerie-glowing powder, calling in the Arcane energies as their hands seemed to glow with the mysterious power. Facing their palms at the runes, their concentration focused on the portal. The rift soon opened, the heat of the Spire leaking into the throneroom. "Now go! Go! You will be heroes of the Horde, when you return! My eyes are upon you!" With that, the assembled team strode into the rift, weapons ready, with the heat of the Mountain to greet them.

[ogrun]

The suffocating warmth of the lava lake below greeted the five heroes, as they made it through the portal. Pahu was the first, stumbling, sickened by the Arcane energies. As the others passed through, he was hunched over the side of the stone pathway that curled up the edge of the volcano's walls, vomitting over the edge and watching the contents fall to the lava. A few groans came from the Tauren as he rose. Gazziko, the Goblin, adjusted the satchel and pack on his shoulder and back, peering at the surroundings through his goggles. The female Troll brushed a pair of braided locks out her eyes, the red hair of the Darkspear seemed to glow with the light coming from the molten lake below. She had an arrow ready to take flight, resting it in position, looking towards the way ahead. "I assume we gonna be goin' up?" The others looked up the stone walkway, warm under their feet and carved from rock, the path ahead lead higher to a towering runed arch. Lirucia, the Forsaken, stifled a snicker, as the unliving corpse was already quite a few feet away. Each sound seemed to echo. The Deathstalker led the group, her night-black leather armor looking as if it were absorbing the red glow from the lava, a black dagger unsheathed in her skeletal claw. The Troll, Kavina, followed behind her, along with Gazziko and Girk, with Pahu trailing behind.

As they neared the towering arch entryway leading into the Blackrock Spire, the remnants of a battle were scattered about within less than ten feet from the point of entry. Corpses, or even, Orc corpses. Still clutching to their weapons in a deathgrip, dried blood splattered upon the warm stone. Atleast fifteen or so Orcs, in total, the obvious difference being the different types of armor. Most were adorned in dark iron, well-tended and obviously new, while the rest were in battered, old armor, poorly supplied. Girk knelt down to turn a face-down Orc over, the corpse was that of an adult, a thick beard covering his chin. Young Redaxe took only a few moments to inspect the corpse, taking a moment to look over the battered, aged armor. "None of these Orcs are our own warriors.." Girk paused, after speaking, as they all shared glances at the corpses, Pahu spoke in a deep voice, having now recovered from his magic disorientation, "Let's continue, I don't wish to leave the dead here to rot, but we are at risk of detection, standing here." They all nodded except for Lirucia, whose echoing snicker was heard from the dark archway, "This way seems to be... clear." Her raspy voice carried softly through the hollow passageway, as the party continued on.

"A'ight, I can set up a few explosives, if we can find where all the weight is supported, blow this place to bits while we safely run out!" Gazziko grinned widely, as he explained his plan, keeping the sound of his voice low and quiet, as the group of five kept close together down the descending ramp. "Hell, I can set a timer, I got enough fuse here to last atleast an hour."
Girk nodded, "Right.. An hour to kill the Chieftain and leave?" The demolitionist nodded, "That's it, pal! Kill the head boss, then blow the place before they knew what hit 'em." The Orc grunted, "I'm not your pal, friend.." Gazziko frowned, "I'm not your friend, buddy."Sighing, Kavina soon changed the subject, "Okay. So, 'ow we gonna be findin' t'is mon, anyway?"Pahu replied, the Tauren moving at a slow pace, taking large steps, "That is what the Warchief spoke of, before we left. He is at the highest room of the Spire."Lirucia, still stepping ahead, curled her upper lip in a bit of a grin as they reached a corner, peering out from eyeless sockets around the sharp turn to the left. "Two.. guards ahead." She whispered as she pulled away to turn towards the rest of the party. "Shouldn't be.. too hard of a kill, yes?"She grinned, as Pahu readied his large hammer, Girk readied his axe and shield, Kavina notched her arrow, Gazziko searched through his bag for a dagger, and the Deathstalker reached for her own black dagger and Elvish blade, the sword hung across her back.

It took only a moment for Kavina to fire the first arrow, as the rest followed, Grazziko tossing his throwing dagger. The arrow hit the first guard through his helmet, the dagger hitting it's mark in the other through the throat. Both guards went down with very little sound.

[ogrun]

Through the doorway that the now-dead guards were placed, it opened up to a narrow platform. Below, and above, were the remnants of a Dwarven city. Encircled by the warm, beckoning glow of a river of lava. Many stone platforms stretched in narrow bridges across this massive chasm, the sounds of activity audible deeper in the mountain.

It took only a few moments to loot the two Blackrock corpses of their belongings, Lirucia swiftly patting them down and checking for any written orders. The Deathstalker snickered to herself, as she dragged one of the two corpses to the ledge outside the doorway. It silently fell down, hitting a ledge with a crack of bone, before sliding back into a descent towards the river of magma below.

Pahu furrowed his brow, "Someone could have seen that, Forsaken." The cadavar curled her upper lip in what would have been a sinister grin, if there were any skin on her chin or any remnant of her bottom lip. "That is.. what you believe and think. I am sure.. it will be interpreted as.. an accident." She said this, as she disposed of the other corpse in a similar manner. It plummeted on a one-way path into the magma far, far below. "You are over-confident." Girk stated this with a snort, as the group continued on. Kavina readied another arrow, eyes gazing across the large chasm and, possibly, further. Gazziko followed behind, looking over a list scrawled upon a parchment, after retrieving his knife from the throat of the second guard. For a few moments, all was quiet, as the group of five passed halfway across the warm stone bridge.

Whoosh! An arrow brushed through Kavina's hair, the she-troll swiftly aiming upward, arrow notched. She sent a bolt back, the party tensed and closed in, Girk raised his shield to prepare for a downpour of arrows. The loud, pained cry of a woman filled the chasm, the arrow found it's mark, as shouts of Common were heard above. Gazziko pointed them out with a greasy digit, "There! To the left!"
The group of Alliance consisted of a male Human, a female Gnome, a male Draenei, and the now injured female Night Elf. The Elf grimacing as she fell back, the arrow lodging itself firmly in her leg. A few scowls were exchanged between the two parties, before a few bolts of magic, fire and ice, came from the small pink-haired Gnome! Both parties hurrying across, while trying to hinder the other, yells from both to rally their own. "GO! Get across! I'll hold 'em off, champs!" Gazziko shooed the rest away, as he pulled out a loaded pistol. A click later at a ball of lead hit alongside the arrow in the Elf's leg, across the chamber, the two bridges a fair distance apart, with the Alliance adventurers slightly higher.

The Human, a grizzled veteran garbed in bright yellow plate, his blonde hair having made quite some progress in becoming grey, hauled the Elf over his shoulder, groaning as he passed the doorway, the Draenei soon following. The Gnome stayed, exchanging bolts of magic in exchange for lead. Gazziko took cover behind the cover of the doorway, stopping to reload, "Heh.. Little gnomish pest.." In a flash of arcane light, the mage was soon standing beside him! The head of her staff hit him in the stomach, as he fell over. He jerked his hand for the gnome's foot, pulling her onto her backside. Fisticuffs soon followed as they rolled across the bridge, back to the other side. Exchanging insults in their own native tongues, both soon having trails of blood oozes out of their nostrils from multiple punches.

Girk, Kavina, Pahu, and Lirucia sprinted down the large hallway that opened up soon after they past the bridge. Somewhat above them, and slowly descending, were the three Alliance. The Night Elf groaning softly in pain as the Draenei reassured her. The man carrying the Elvish woman glared at Girk, only columns seperating them. The man shouted an insult in Orcish, "Son of motherless ogre!" While Girk just growled loudly, the young orc taking fast, deep breaths as he kept pace with the man. "Your the adopted son of a murloc! Damn bastard!" For the moment, that was the only insult that Girk could come up with. Lirucia kept up to pace, taking advantage of having more energy, so to speak, than her comrades. She snickered, not breaking the rhythm of her leather boots on the stone. "Do you have many rivals?" Her question addressing Girk, though no response came from the young orc as he focused more on the human. Pahu and Kavina's running kept at an even pace of the other, as they followed behind. The yells of more orcs were audible, since the starting crossfire with the Alliance.

The Horde and Alliance were racing against eachother, now they were racing away from danger alongside the other as the furious cries of Orcish filled the large hallway. All were breathing heavily, as the shouts seemed to come from all around them. Did Gazziko and the gnome meet their doom at the hand of these orcs? The clash of metal striking against metal soon met their ears as an Ogre stood before then, alongside many Orcs, armed and ready to fight, all wearing the battered, old armor from earlier. The Ogre halted them, both his heads looking down on the group, the massive ogre leaning upon a staff being orbitted by bright, glowing crystals."HALT! You are surrounded, by the Blackrock. You will listen and do as we say, or you will die."


Gazziko was at the end of his wits, having pummeled the snot out of, and having the snot pummeled out of him caused him to resort to his last animal instincts. The fisticuffs against the gnomish mage had continued on, both lost all sense of time during their duel to the death. "Goblin engineering is the best, gnome! You can't disprove that!" He snarled, as the gnome probably replied with an insult in her tongue. She looked ferocious, despite the pink hair in a ponytail.. Gazziko always liked ferocious women, they had a firey spirit of independence, like this gnome. He punched her across the jaw, dismissing the thought! He was a goblin, a proud one at that! Gallywix didn't choose to pay him for this job over nothing! He took a blow back on the nose, the pain in his snout rekindled, as he pushed the furious gnome back. He rummaged through his large satchel, kicking the gnome back as he fell over on his back. "Gah!" He spat in her eye as he kicked himself back. Where was it? He felt the parchment at his fingertips, the fuse to the bombs he was going to manually place.. There! The metal rectangle fit nicely in his hands, he never thought he'd have to use it.

Gazziko was at his last resorts, the gnomish bitch took his knife! He dodged swipe after swipe, even though the gnome could have melted his face off a long time ago. The cold feeling of the detonator felt.. reassuring. He twirled, giving the gnome a roundhouse kick, knocking her back quite a few steps and over onto her back with a groan. The mage rose quickly, either way, just as the goblin demolitionist expected. He grinned, as he stopped, and she soon stopped, as he pulled out the bomb-box. He didn't hesitate, as the thought of his unborn kid crossed his mind. His unborn son was gonna be damn proud of his father.

"Kippie khy yay, bitch." He pressed the button.

[ogrun]

"We will not take your weapons, trespassers," The Ogre scowled, as the chubby second head of the Ogre finished the statement, "Put them away and you will be allowed to live." The toga that the ogre wore was a brightly dark purple, a status of power. The staff itself having smaller crystals orbiting around the head of the magical item. The Ogre tapped it against the warm stone floor, "Stay close around them, if any attack comes from reinforcements, their lives will be ended swiftly.."
Girk took in a deep breath, barely holding back a growl and snarl as he set his axe back upon his waist and the Horde-crest shield back upon his back. The remaining party did the rest, Pahu slinging his heavy stone hammer over his shoulder and across his back, Lirucia sliding her black dagger into her belt, the sword across her back remained untouched as a blue glow shined dimly through under the hilt of the Elven-forged sword. Kavina lowered and shoulder her bow, stowing away the arrow that was notched and ready. It was a tense moment, as they did this, though they were all somewhat relieved they were allowed to keep their weapons. The Draenei had his shotgun already holstered across his back, and the Human was unable to use a weapon because of the burden he bore carrying the Elf. Like hawks watching their young closely, the Blackrock Orcs soon surrounded them. Worn, old chainmail and plate adorning most of them as they took a defensive formation around the Horde and Alliance prisoners.

The shockwave of the following explosion pushed them forward a few steps, the smoke being the first to push through the hallway as the explosive sound filled the ears of all those present. The rumble of old stone crumbling apart, the bridge collapsing, and the foundations being shaken to their very core. "GO! GO!" The Ogre urged them forward, "They are sure to know where we are now!" The entire formation moved at a fast pace through the hallways, the Ogre leading as they took several sharp turns, and went down a sharp descent. It was a fast, rushed mob movement as the party of Horde and Alliance members soon found themselves completely lost, unable to track their progress. Among shouts of orcs, trolls, and even ogres filling their ears, their senses and memory went through an overload, each only being able to recall brief moments.

Eventually, the shouts and yells died down, and their pace slowed. The lighting darkened as they continued down a steep ramp, the formation spread out, but the Blackrock orcs still kept steady eyes on the strangers. They soon reached a bare wall, runes thinly scrawled in a triangular shape, they glowed a soft blue. Magical runes that neither Girk or the group could read, as the two-headed Ogre placed a thick, fat hand on the center of the triangle. A muttered, memorized incantation by both heads caused the runes to glow brighter, for a moment, and then die down to a soft shimmer. The wall slid to the side, as the escort party followed through. "Warlord Dran'kor will want to speak with each of you.." The Ogre magician reached a hand into a pouch slung onto his toga's belt, giving a leather necklace, tied to a pendant, to the three Alliance members, "These.. Will help you understand Orcish.. Enchanted by the Wind Elements." He said this to them, as they passed. The runed wall closed behind them.

"Log'krush!" The armored Orc eyed the newcomers for a few moments, his own plate having taken harsher punishment than any of his followers who stood in the large, isolated room. Several archways led into different chambers, lit by torches, though what was inside could not be seen through the darkness that filled most of the chamber. "Who are they? The invaders?" He stepped forward, as the Horde and Alliance party were herded before him, his armor shifting as he stepped down a small, raised platform where a hooded and robed female Orc was speaking to him, she soon adjusted her hood to hide her facial features, her tusks protruding from the shadow cast by her cowl over her face as she retreated to her own privacy until called. The Ogre magician nodded, "Yes, they are." The Orc and his mutilated plate shifted for a moment, as he adjusted the warpike across his back, "Speak your names, and your purpose here! Thank the ancestors that you are here, continuing to be alive under my mercy. I am Dran'kor, Warlord of the true Blackrock Clan, soon to be the true Warchief of the Orcish Horde. I am the son of the pitiful elder that schemed his way to the title." The Blackrock scowled at Girk, Pahu, Kavina, and Lirucia, and individually at each of the Alliance, as they spoke. He looked not much older than Girk himself, his face marked by a scar under his chin, bristled hair growing around the healed mark.

"I am Girk Redaxe, son of Janghakur Redaxe, warrior of the Horde, of Orgrimmar." The young Orc spoke, straightening himself before the Warlord, breathing in deeply and exhaling as he showed confidence in his voice and pride in his name. Pahu spoke next, "I am Phau Kodofoot, Sunwalker of Thunder Bluff." A woman of few words, Kavina paused a moment, "I be Kavina, o' da Darkspeah." During this, Lirucia snickered, Drag'kor clenched his fists as she spoke, "I am Lirucia.. Deathpouch.."

The Forsaken did not grin, as the Warlord shifted his gaze from the first party, over to the Alliance, "Speak!" He bellowed this out, as the human still held the night elf on his shoulder, "I am Andrius Harentire.. This is Larynda Brightmoon. Our silent Draenei friend is Maanu. He's mute, and unable to speak on his behalf." Drag'kor snorted, as the Og'krush whispering into his leader's ear what the human had said. All three of the Alliance were able to understand, due to the wind-blessed pendants given to them. Girk spoke up, again, "We are here to kill your.. false warchief, and end the threat to the Horde.. These Alliance are here for the same reason, but for their own."
The Warlord paused a few moments, as he focused his red-eyed gaze upon the newcomers. "Very well! You are now my weapons of war, my prisoners of war! You will earn your food from what you pick up off the bodies of our enemy. In this war, you will fight only with honor, no trickery. We will not hesitate to end your lives in service to your.. Horde." He glanced at each of them for a moment.

"You belong to me, now." He dismissed the gathering of Blackrock orcs that had gathered since the newcomers had arrived. They each went down a seperate archway, entering the dark corridors and rooms within the torch-lit darkness. The mixed party of Horde and Alliance were led to their own chamber, a poorly prepared room for prisoners. A few bones littered the ground, already, from a time past, in the dimly chamber. Meanwhile, the Warlord, the prodigal son of the Warchief to this Horde, spoke to his advisors, Og'krush, the darkly hooded female Orc, and a few other robed others in the dimly lit chamber.

"It is only a matter of time, before the rise of the Orcish Horde, once again.."

[ogrun]

The explosion earlier sent debris to rocket in all directions, there was no corner that shivered from the bloom of explosive fire. Stone crashed against stone, rock, and magma. The unsteady of foot were knocked down on their stomachs and backs, and even the most steady were shaken on their feet. The Dark Iron Dwarves were even affected by this shockwave, though their Empress was in Ironforge, the highest in power handled matters. The most affected, perhaps, were the two small figures falling to their deaths, somehow not killed by the billowing flames. Both trailed smoke as they fell downwards.

Gazziko awoke quickly, somehow he fell asleep, or maybe he just thought he was asleep. His clothes were burned, tattered, and mostly destroyed, his satchel was gone, and his dagger was probably in the hands of that fierce gnomish woman still. He twirled uncontrollably for a moment, spreading his arms and legs to, perhaps, slow his fall and steady himself. He was facing the magma, taking in a deep breath as the heat grew intensely to meet him..

He slowed suddenly, nearly jerked back from his freefall plummet, a thin veil of Arcane energy forming around him. Holy shit. I'm magical. He looked around for a moment, catching sight of the robed gnome that soon floated down to him. He bit his lower lip, as she descended down at a swift speed to meet him, nearly hitting him - just barely - to meet the lava with a sizzle and a screech. He winced, on her behalf, as he gently drifted like a feather. At this pace of descent, it would take awhile to even feel the lava burning the flesh of his bones as he screamed and howled for it all to end; and with the magic barrier, if it wore off, the slow fall itself would probably lengthen his pain and torture..

At this point, Gazziko knew he was, literally, screwed. He took a deep breath, fiddling with what remained of his belt. The arclight spanner gadget failed, the miniscule parts falling down to the lava. Since he wasn't blowing anything up, at this point, and he couldn't make a blast radius in air, he dared not touch the explosive rocket gadget. One after another, tools and other parts fell from his nearly destroyed belt as he fumbled with the tools. No, no, no, no! He began to sweat even more, as the heat hitting his small body rose in intensity. He was.. about fifty kilometers above the lava? He wasn't keeping track, but the veil of Arcane energy faded away. It was then, for a few moments, the man began to wonder why he accepted this job in the first place. His memory of how Gallywix talked to him was picture-perfect...

The party at the Pleasure Palace was a hit! Beautiful women and waitresses, the steam bath and pool were, perhaps, the biggest successes. The richest of goblins attended the celebration, the official opening of the Palace and the promotional party in behalf of Gallywix. Gazziko was enjoying himself, having blasted the crater for the pool himself, and being the owner of his small group of demolitionists and sappers, was a prime guest in the events. His crew wandered off to enjoy the women and drinks, Gazziko was busy making contacts for the future. On the side, he met a few nice women, did his part in making sure they were nice and comfy. "Well, I have plenty of dynamite, we could blow the roof off a few places, and then some. It'll be explosive, just the two of us.." He grinned at one of the female goblins with him, as she chuckled and blushed.

Gallywix, along with his own personal Hobgoblin guard, soon approached him, "Hey, ladies! Me and Gazziko gotta talk business real quick-like, alright? I'll give 'im back to ya in a bit." He shooed them off, as the Trade Prince took a seat beside him.

"Oh, Gallywix! As much as you can feel free to call me anytime, I was a bit busy, there.."
"Listen, kid. I got a.. really important job for ya. Hellscream's callin' the best down to Orgrimmar fer some sort of.. special mission."
Gazziko paused a moment, one of his crew had just bellyflopped into the pool. The demolitionist grinned at the sight, as he looked back at the Trade Prince, "Yeah? That's nice of him, Trade Prince, but why does that have anything to do with me?"
"Well, kid," By Gallywix's tone, he was a very tired and impaitent, "I want you to go in there. Has to do with the Blackrock, you got a grudge with a guy who signed up with 'em, don't ya? Plus, with the reward that Garrosh is offerin'.. Nobody ain't ever gonna fergit ya, but they will fergit your debts.." He eyed the demolitionist for a moment, as Gazziko's eyes widened, Gallywix continued, "Don't think I forgot about how many layers of rock you blew just to make that little pool, that costed money on my end trying to get you enough dynamite. Y'see.." The Trade Prince smiled, or rather, grinned, his yellow teeth taunting Gazziko silently, "I got a few friends of mine that could convince you to take the job and.. give the money reward to me. I'm sure there is one, for somethin' this big.."
Gazziko nodded, "Yeah, sure! When am I going?" He swallowed the rest of his coconut rum, and lost his appetite after the Trade Prince offered his share of the negotiations.

"Now. Hellscream ain't much of a waitin' kind of guy. And don't worry 'bout yer crew.. I'll let 'em know."
It was then, Gazziko was dragged away from the loud party, the beautiful women, and material temptations, loaded onto a one of those rocket transports and rocketed across Azshara with nothing but what was on his person. He screamed most of the way there, not much of a man for soaring across Kalimdor at speeds experienced by a mere few. He landed safely, though, it only took a few days for him to recover with the assistance of a few priests when he landed in the Slums..

Snapping back to reality, the lava seemed closer. It was closer, and in fact, he just wanted to tear off his already smouldering clothing just to cool off a little bit. Instead, he still fiddled with his belt, one evolutionary tool after another failing and falling, unhindered, into the magma river below. He took in a deep breath, his sweaty digits activating more tools... And then the last one that he could think of to end his misery of being burnt alive..

He grinned, at the result, his father always said he'd never soar or achieve anything.

[ogrun]

The group had very little to talk about. There was the uncertain future ahead, the son of a Warchief who took them in as weapons, and their current predicament of being trapped in a locked cell. In the darkness, their eyes slowly adjusted. It had been several hours since they were put in there, they heard again and again, passing orcs who spoke of an immediate attack on the very throne of the Spire itself. It was, perhaps, the only talk they heard during their time in the cramped room of cold stone and dust.

Pahu was tending to the arrow still stuck in the night elf's leg, careful in his movements, due to not being a medic. The lack of communication between both elf and tauren was of little help, especially for the grunts of pain that came from the smaller elf. "I am not an experienced medic.. But I can heal her." He said this towards the human, Aldrius. Pausing a moment, as the Sunwalker grasped the arrow at the base of it's entry wound, he gave a sharp tug. The following loud outburst of pain assured the fears that it was a deep wound. The tauren bandaged the wound as best he could with spare linen cloth.

Girk sat in one of the corners, taking in a deep breath. His armor shifted as he straightened himself, remaining silent. Larynda said something in Common, as she, and the rest of them, sat against the wall in the dark, then something in her native tongue of Darnassian. It seemed like a song, or a poem, to soothe the senses, inbetween her stopping a few times from blood loss and becoming dizzy. Kavina muttered a few prayers to the Loa. And as Pahu spared his own waterskin, Aldrius was stroking his blonde-grey hair, out of some long-forgotten nervous impulse in regards to the possible upcoming battle.

"Perhaps I should.. leave your company for.. awhile.." A snicker followed Lirucia's raspy voice, "I bid you all.. farewell.. I can hear them.. coming for.. you, but not for.. me." The Deathstalker vanished in the cell, as the wooden door soon flung out into the cell. "Come!" The orc who opened them pull Larynda upward, who then leaned against Aldrius, as they were beckoned into the large chamber again. Warlord Drag'kor grinned as they approached, along with the rest of his army of underground rebels. They were all armed with axes and blades of various sizes, their armor misshapen and battered, clearly a people who had been fighting without relief for too long, they spoke amongst themselves about the battle, how it would turn in their favor, and of the outsiders who were now their tools for ascending from the darkness and shadows of the Spire.

"Silence!" The Warlord hushed them with a thump of his polearm, "It is time, now, to strike against my father.. The false Warchief! He cheated, and lied! He dishonored, and stole! After the death of Rend, he had slowly rose through trickery and falsehood like a coward, but no more! The Log'krush's magic-users say the odds are in our favor.. That we have the upper hand! They have gone ahead of us, but we will lead the attack! We - as true orcs - not cowards hiding in robes and spells!" He paused, to take a breath, "Today, Blackrock! Is the rise of a new Orcish Horde! The prodigal son and his true, honorable people have returned!" He laughed loudly in excitement as his people cheered the Warlord. Raising arms and clanging metal against metal. The chamber burst with sound, and then stopped as the Warlord stopped them, "The door is open, Blackrock!" They turned, each orc filled with the hot blood of a warrior, a warrior contained for too long in hidden, guerilla tactics, "Go! Now! Up the Spire to take what is ours!"
With that, the rush of orcs was like an ocean of dark green, through the darker corridors the army of rebels rushed out into the Blackrock Spire. Girk, Pahu, Kavina, Aldrius, Larynda, and Maanu were surrounded by their own personal 'guard'. The Warlord stopped for a moment, as the rush of orcs soon ended. Already, the sounds of battle could be heard echoing through the Spire. "It is beautiful.. Isn't it? Honor.. Glory.." He grinned, as he looked at the party, "You shall have your share with it, alongside me. I cannot endanger my own people with you trying to escape, no matter how futile it would be if you did." Girk let out a low growl, but held his tongue. Drag'kor continued, as he picked up his polearm, beckoning his guards and the outsiders over, "Come!" He was soon running out into the warm 'outside' air, being outside of the chamber and catacombs smelt much more better, especially with the circulation of the former-dwarven architecture. Fighting and battle cries echoed as they rose towards a spiraling, ascending staircase littered with freshly slain orc corpses here and there. Larynda was carried by Aldrius once more, as the others made sure that the injured was not harmed. Was the adventure ending already?



Gazziko went into a wild barrel roll, grunting and groaning as he crashed through the window, a trail of smoke following, and landed in the tavern of puzzled orcish onlookers. They rose, and reached for their weapons, slowly stepping forward. The goblin took in a deep breath as he prepared for death to come at him. The group standing around him was mostly drunk, puzzled, and not really wanting any explaination, which was obvious enough. A few tense moments were broken with a loud laugh, "Hey! Back away from 'im! He's mine, a'ight?" The voice belonged to a confident looking male goblin, followed by a flock of five, or six, goblin women. Gazziko took a moment to count.. Five.. Six.. Nine?

A greasy, ash-covered hand helped him up, and then punched him in the face, "So!" The man scowled, "You finally decided to crawl back to home after 'exploring the world' and 'finding' a 'place' for yourself? Pops always knew you would come back, possibly flying through some window, and waiting to get killed by a bunch of drunk Blackrock. He was damn right!" Another punch was delivered to a dazed Gazziko's jaw, the woozy, dehydrated, and burnt goblin took a few moments to speak, "Hrrraugfffm.." His brother scoffed, "Thought so, ya deadbeat! Y'could've had it all, even women! I've got five unborn sons to be proud of me," He gestured for a moment at the five, or maybe six, goblin women behind him, "When I go boom, they'll be smilin' proud for my radius.. I bet all my gold that you have no unborn sons, not even a woman!" Adding insult to injury, Gazziko just babbled incoherantly about him having an unborn son, just that he wasn't born yet, and that being the only problem about him not having an unborn son, which he did have. Obviously, it made no sense to any orc, ogre, or goblin in the vicinity, the only thing it earned him was a few odd looks and a punch to the gut. His vision blurred as the number of beautiful goblin women behind his brother grew to twenty, then two, and then to thirty, and then five again. He fainted as his heard the laughs of his brother fade into the darkness.

"Take him-- Oh, shit!"
Gazziko heard nothing from then on, except for what seemed to be tables breaking, before silence overcame.

[ogrun]

"Ha! Tell the ancestors I said hello!" Drag'kor snarled as he impaled a guard on the narrow bridge outside the last room before the throneroom of the Blackrock Warchief, the orc replied with a startled yell and a scream as he was silenced by a sharp jutting rock on the long drop down. The personal guard followed behind, then the party of heroes. Larynda was limp on Aldrius' shoulder, having passed out from dehydration. She was among the least of worries, however, as the chaos was seen in the tavern. Already, a large group of the Blackrock rebels had attacked the tavern, though their blood stained and filled the floor as they became fewer than ten in number. The Warlord and the others changed those odds swiftly, especially since most of the orcs that stood against them, at the moment, were angry and drunk. Numbers, brute force, and dulled senses were overcome by alert minds. The beaten up body of Gazziko was found on a table, as progress was made in the tavern. Kavina and Pahu were able to awaken Gazziko with a few shakes, and some water. He mumbled for a moment, the goblin regaining conciousness. The condition of his clothes nearly made him look naked, his chest covered in bruises and burns, his vest nearly long-gone except for the arms and his pants were not much better, though they did manage to cover below his waist. "Nnngh.. My brother.. Gotta find him, champs." He drank a nearby, used mug of ale, shivering a bit as the alcohol numbed any pain. "Mon, ja crazeh, if ya wanna go relative-findin' in ya condition." Kavina frowned, as she twirled swiftly, just in time, to gut an orc across the belly with a blade that glowed a bright blue, parrying a few blows from another with both her elven-forged blades as Pahu glanced back. The Sunwalker was soon attacked as well, holding back an axe from digging into his face.

Gazziko took this chance to stumble off the table, pick himself up, and look for his brother who insulted him. He swayed through the chaos and combat of the Drunktusk Pub and Tavern. His mind slowly recovering, he eventually found a shallow hallway that led out to a balcony. The heat of the lava seemed hotter here, the warm stone burning his bare feet.

"Chasing me, are you?" He was greeted with a punch on the back of the head, as he rolled to the left and spun his legs around to the right, grounding his male opponent. Gaining his footing, he managed to pull out a shank that somehow managed to stay in his belt, leaping on his foe and bloodkin. "Nngh!" Gazziko was pushed off, his brother rising, "So! Finally going against your own blood?! I guess the times I spent trying to get you a girl wasn't enough! Pops tried many years to get us accepted into here as a family - you threw it all away! All of it!" His brother screamed this loud enough to make his voice crack, family betrayal heavy in the air, "Instead! You headed back! Why?!" He took a step forward, as Gazziko took a stab at him, he parried it smartly, disarming his younger sibling and causing the knife to fly off the edge. The duo stepping closer to the edge, "I thought you cared about the family! You seemed to! We worked at this very tavern.. We cleaned up, we lit ale on fire on this balcony! Still! You threw it away to 'see the world'!"

Gazziko snarled, as he pushed his brother back, they exchanged fisticuffs for a few moments, "Grah! You know it wasn't like that! It never was! You know dad never liked me, I was his least favorite, while you took the glory! I know he gave you extra money because you actually had a date to that feast! That moronic she-orc, who didn't know how to even barter her way to selling soiled linens for ten pieces of gold!" During this exchange of anger and emotion, his brother snarled, "Leave Dryska out of this!" With a charge and pounce, the two brothers tossed and turned on the edge of the rail-less balcony, trading blows and curses. Gazziko was under his brother, as he dealt him a heavy, desperate push off! He was grabbed by the foot, sliding against the warm stone. Memories flashed as he hung by the edge, barely, with his older brother clawing at his burnt foot and leg.

Slipping... Slipping... He finally fell. The brothers embraced in a final fisticuffs as they plummeted into the lava. If Gazziko realized that he had fallen in lava, it wasn't really as painful as he imagined, even if he had slow fallen into the magma those many hours ago. He realized, however, as he fell while knocking the brains out of his hated brother.. He wasn't really that mad at him, just a bit pissed off. He didn't really want a lot of unborn sons, just a lot of born sons where he and his girl could raise a family.. That maybe money wasn't worth so much, after all.. He finally realized that the secret to life was-- He then died, instantly.



The last family feud of Gazziko's family was not heard over the combat in the Drunktusk Pub and Tavern. Drag'kor laughed, as Girk cut open the stomach of a female Blackrock that leaped at him, "I doubt they have females as willing to rip you apart in Durotar, hm?" Girk grinned, and laughed back, "Only if you challenge them to a duel to the death, otherwise, they just want to kick your ass!" The two young Orc males charged into the throneroom, and stopped immediately. The personal guard of the Warlord followed, along with Kavina, Pahu, Aldrius, and the unconcious Larynda. Maanu was in the tavern with the rest, finishing off the remnant enemy forces.

The Warchief grinned, his leathery, wrinkled features stretched. He rose slowly as he wheezed, leaning upon his staff. Log'krush stood with him, along with the robed orcs who were Drag'kor's advisors. "Ahh.. My son has finally come.." His voice seemed weak, and his movements frail, but the red eyes of the elder glinted with what some would call a pure, dark evil. "I see you brought a few friends! It is a shame I will have to kill you, Drag'kor, after what Log'krush has told me." The Warlord snarled, as he kept his polearm raised. The magic-users by the throne remained calm, as the rest of the orcs loyal to the Warchief were already prepared for a battle. Drag'kor readied his weapon, as if to fight the elder that was now stood before him at the base of the raised throne, "You have ruled for too long in deciet, trickery, and lies, father! You die today, by my hand! I don't care if it's with honor or glory, I cannot watch you kill our people!"
The elder's cackle chilled the blood of all those there, as he muttered dark words. Drag'kor's eyes widened, as he dropped his polearm with a clatter, shaking visibly through his form, as he collapsed on his knees and screamed. A scream of pain, misery, and pure suffering! Screams that make the ancestors themselves weep in pain! The Warchief was a powerful warlock. Log'krush watched with a wide, amused grin at the spectacle. The guards and rebel Blackrock soon charged forward, greeted with the weapons of the steady Warchief-loyal that stepped forward to protect their Fel-wielding Warchief. Girk snarled, as he and the others soon joined. Aldrius pulled back to tend to Larynda, muttering something to himself in Common, as Maaru appeared with the remaining rebels that were done in the tavern.

Metal clashed against metal, and magic burned and warped flesh. Screams similar to Drag'kor's own filled the chamber. Kavina lodged arrows into the warlocks, though Log'krush and the Blackrock Warchief seemed to have some protective ward. Girk slashed throat and gut of both warrior and warlock, as the rebels and heroes were at a tie between strength. The robed warlocks lay dead and punctured with arrows, Log'krush and the Warchief being the only two alive. Pahu was at the entrance to the chamber, giving healing and removal of magic that he could provide. He said continuous prayers to An'she as he cast the bright, healing magic, slowly stepping forward as the tides turned.

The Warchief unleashed a wave of dark magic that pushed them all back against the ground, some with enough for to smash their skulls and splatter brain matter on the warm stone walls. Girk and Kavina were not among those, as the fighters dwelled to twenty for the rebel Blackrock, and thirteen for their enemy. Pahu kneeled down to grasp the polearm of the fallen Drag'kor, the Sunwalker took a deep breath as he felt the weapon in his large hand, it was blessed by the elements.. No evil that was cast by the warlocks seemed to be felt in the shaman-blessed polearm.

He readied himself for a charge, as the way opened, while others were picking themselves up to their feet. He ran forward, and released the polearm! "Warchief!" The last words of the twin-headed ogre as the weapon pierced through his belly, through him, and into the elder warlock that he tried to protect. The malicious elder was pushed back by the weapon, gripping it by the handle, black blood leaking from his chest as he looked at the blade, and then at the tauren who had slain him.

"Damn.. you to.. hell." The last word, emphasized, echoed in the now-quiet chamber. All followers of the Warchief were soon slain, and the Blackrock were not only even fewer than before.. But leaderless.

"You.." One of the rebel Blackrock raised a finger at Pahu, "You! You killed the Warchief, when such a right was reserved for us! Us! We were promised a share of his blood upon our faces, and you stole that from us!" The accusing male was soon joined by others, as Pahu, Girk, and Kavina backed slowly away from them, taking cautious steps out of the throneroom. The sounds and accusations were heard throughout the tavern as well, as the scattered forces of the Blackrock rebels shouted accusations at the outsiders upon the fast-traveling news of the Warchief's death being at the hands of the tauren. Promised blood at the hand of the Blackrock that was refused by fate fueled their fury.

Aldrius glanced over his shoulder at the angry Blackrock orcs filling the doorway of the throneroom, picking up the groaning Larynda, "Shit! Let's go!" They all broke into a run, with Maanu and Kavina following behind. Kavina fired off arrows, and Maanu, the mute draenei, fired his shotgun at any that got too close. This chase continued, the angry cries of the Blackrock filling all the halls. They knew not where to go, as they descended down through the warm, dry, burning hallways. Black blood seemed to be splattered everywhere, as they moved on. Every few times, Girk and Pahu had to fight off a few orcs in order to continue through a blocked passage that, hopefully, led to their escape.

They reached the hallway where they first ran against the Alliance party, where they were first taken captive.. They stopped at the broken bridge, Kavina was with the rest, and Maanu was still holding them back with his shotgun. Cha-chuck! Following each shot as the mute, wide-shouldered man continued to reload quickly with a few twirls of the gun. He took slow steps back on his hooved feet. Other orcs came in, suddenly, from behind, crowding the draenei as he continued firing the two-round firearm.

A portal materialized behind the group, as Lirucia soon appeared from outside, "I happened to.. destroy the magic wards.." She snickered, as she ran forward to join the fight with Maanu. The portal slowly closed, as Aldrius and Larynda stepped through the constantly changing images with a jump. Pahu followed, reluctantly. Kavina pulled Girk with her as they were last, and the portal closed.

Lirucia had finally found a purpose in her undeath, something better than enternal service to the Dark Lady, not that she provided such a service with undying loyalty and gratitude for her freedom. Her dagger and blade flashed as they both cut into orcs, black blood covering her and the warm stone. The draenei was still alive.. That was some good. He managed to step out as she stepped in. Her skull was crushed by a heavy metal mace, killing her quickly. The Deathstalker had finally fulfilled her service to the Dark Lady.

Maanu stepped back, as he continued firing the shotgun. The weapon was hot in his hands, he was running low on shells. He nearly slipped on the edge of the bridge, as an orc came at him.

"I believe that my oath of silence is now sated with the blood of orcs.. Naaru forgive me for my hatred.." He thought this, as he tossed aside his gun, and welcomed death. His spirit would be at peace.

Pahu found himself at Thunder Bluff, welcomed by the scented smoke of peace pipes, as his mate soon embraced him. He froze for a few moments at her touch, surprised, before smiling. Elder Ogrun Brokenhorn, and her brother, Lanorm, were with her.. A family gathering.

Aldrius and Larynda soon found themselves in Darnassus. Aldrius murmured something under his breath, as Larynda passed out again. This time, she did not awaken with a reassuring groan, but the last sight she saw was of her home.. The human man soon made the eventual return to his farm in Elwynn, but.. He returned to night elven lands, and stayed there for the remainder of his short life.

Girk and Kavina stumbled into the streets of Orgrimmar. Shocked, and confused for a few moments, they recovered.. It felt like no time had passed at all, it did not feel like any had. They wandered their way to the empty Redaxe Farms. Girk found the banner of the Twilight's Hammer in the place of his father. He bellowed out to Durotar and Orgrimmar, as he covered the flag in mud and boar dung, then burning it.

"Twilight's Hammer! You cultists! You will each die by my hand! You have stolen my father, kidnapped him! Dishonorable pigs, each of you! For that, you will see only the fury of the Horde and the Redaxe! Lok'tar Ogar! I am now Girk'ash Redaxe, Last of the Redaxe line! Wherever I tread, anything related to any cult will burn and be reduced to ash!"

The flag burned with a foul smell, as Kavina and Girk'ash soon parted ways.

Girk'ash Redaxe knew, then, that he was late on the path of the warrior. He decided to devote himself to making up for lost time.